


I Know Him

by LittlePeony



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:07:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePeony/pseuds/LittlePeony
Summary: He didn't mean to fall in love. But he's happy that he did.
Relationships: John Bonham/John Paul Jones
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

It's not like I... Well, it is, but... But I didn't mean for it. 

Er- well, I- I used to hope it would happen- no, God no, I dreamed of this. I wished for it so bad. You don't quite understand the weight of these things, what all you can do to yourself- how you can make your own body so sick with it all... 

With longing. 

Not until it's very much too late, at least. 

And, well, I should know. It happened to me, after all. But- I got what I dreamt of, all the same. One way or another. And it really wasn't easy- it's still... it's difficult. To think it's real. Not to-

... Not say that it's difficult to love him. That part is far too easy. He's just... you'd have to get to know him, and know him well, too see the things the way I do. And to understand their meanings. 

Most of the time, to the press and in interviews, he's not there. He knows people want to hear what Rob or Jim have to say. They're the frontmen, after all. But instead of getting bored and chiming in every so often like I do, he sits back, and he stares off. Not looking dull or uninterested but... perhaps a little chuffed. Hard stares and shut mouth and crossed arms- looking away at nothing, but it seems to be the very place he wants to be in those times. And he gets the reputation of being a hard, stone-faced man that way. 

But I know better. 

He's... he's really quite kind. Very. Too, even. He's got a way about him that makes you feel warm and welcome, in this sense of his that just- it feels like you've known him for years even if you've just met. Once you say 'hello', and he returns it in a heartbeat. 

There's crow's feet that will appear around the edges of his eyes when he smiles, when he's genuine about it. And he'll flash his teeth at you too- that's how you know it's real. He doesn't like to show off his chipped teeth- doesn't like how sharp and crooked they are. 

But I always tell him it shows his personality- how rugged and rough around the edges he can be. And I think that smile is cute, too, no matter how much he protests. And it's all the more important to me when I know that I made him smile. That he's comfortable enough around me to peek out from the curtain no one knew he drew tight over himself. 

He can be a little self-conscious. Tries to wear jackets or big coats, or something like a bandana to distract your eyes or cover up. He doesn't like that he's a little on the chubby side. 

But I don't mind it at all. Because when he takes you in his arms, the first thing you realize is how soft he is. You can feel the hard muscle underneath, but he is soft and warm first. Especially when he's relaxed. He pushes you into his chest, but then I push into all of him. And sometimes he squirms or backs up- well, he tries to. But I'm persistent. I push right back in. And he doesn't say anything- but I can feel him relax. And sometimes, I can even see him smile about it. 

Otherwise, he likes to show off. And he'll make a show about it, too, when he wants to be silly or impress. Mostly, it's a mixture of both. He's kind of a big kid. But that's one of his most redeeming qualities. 

He'll do this by... a few things, or anything. Making a show of helping the roadies pack up or set down equipment- the heaviest boxes and crates, of course. Or it's the new fancy colored TV's out the window, making craters on the hoods of cars when we get into our hotel. Or sometimes- sometimes, even me over his shoulder, or in his arms. Like I'm nothing at all, every time- just a small weight, something to pull into a kiss or throw into bed and jump, laughing, next to. 

And I cherish those last moments, if you must know. 

But then again, I cherish everything about him. How he can be so contradictory. Tall and gruff and strong and hard-headed, but soft, and kind, and gentle, too. Always gentle. Always asking if he's being too this or too that when we're alone. Fretting if he's just... too much. 

And he never is. Even if he was, I'd still never get enough. 

So I always smile up at him, and take his big hand in mine. It's always so warm, and there's a comfort in that knowledge to me. 

"You're fine." I say, and I try to be as reassuring as possible. Because really, he needs a lot of it. "You're doing just wonderful." 

And that can be at any time. When we kiss. When we're lying next to each other. When he's running a hand in my hair- when I'm cooking and he wants to help. 

And sometimes he smiles back. Sometimes he chuckles, and says, "You're pretty fine, too." And nudges me until I acknowledge the flirt. Sometimes, very seldomly, though it does happen, he sighs like he's expelling a great weight from his shoulders with a breath. And thanks me. And I just squeeze has hand back. 

You can't really blame me for it all, you know. I can blame myself all I want, but... I still wouldn't change a thing. He needs me just as much as I need him.

And really, that's a comfort, too.


	2. The Other Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He may not be the sharpest, but he's the best a man can ask for.

Honest, I really didn't know this was going to happen. It's just one of those things that... sneaks onto you from behind. Kinda comes out from behind the curtain last second, or right after you blink. 

And then it's right in front of your nose, isn't it? Well, at least, it was in front of mine. 

I don't really know how it started. Which is... kinda pathetic to realize. But I'm pretty certain it was slow. Just... one of those things that- well- it happens. 

One day you're focusing on what you're doing to your own set, keeping pace and time, working off each other. That's what we'd always done before. And it always seemed more like play than a job. Than a song with bars and numbers and notes and sections. It was a good time- before, after, and during shows. Even in the studio. 

But then it was... maybe more than a few looks his way. Trying to peek past the cymbals to get a good look at him- always to my right. On my good side. 

And every once in a while, I'd see him peeking over his shoulder, through his hair. Over at me. But it was rare- I never said he wasn't sneaky. But he was human, and he could slip up. Miss the timing. Forget the words, the way the song went, where his hands were on the frets. 

And noticing those little screw ups made me smile inwards and out. Because he always seemed so... He'd get all huffy if I told him- but he was kind of perfect. A right genius. Playing any stringed instrument under the sun- and don't get me started on what he could play on the keys. So when we first started, I felt kind of dwarfed to that. But I knew I had my one Hail Mary- my drums. And I stuck to it. And when he realized what I could do, I thought I felt pride. 

I thought I felt a lot of things after that. There was pride, there was admiration. There was jealousy and more than a fair share of fear. And that one- that one I could never get around. Why was I afraid? I knew how to play, I knew how to act. And I didn't realize why my gut clenched like somebody hooked me in the stomach, or why I balled up inwardly, emotionally, until I realized I did it when he was around. 

I did that because I didn't want to look like how I knew I was- stupid. Not book smarts but just... common sense. 

And we had that whole talk. We did on a lot of occasions. Because he's as good as reading my face as I can read his. And I'm man enough to say I always, always broke down during those talks. I'm not as strong as everybody likes to think. But I don't have to be somebody's idea of me when I'm with him. And that just makes what we have all the more special to me. 

And you know? I notice things about him, too. Tiny things. How when he's nervous, he'll look down and away, at his shoes, play with his fingers. And when he's being a little mischievous, he bites his lip. And dammit, he knows when to do that, too. 

I know he's self-conscious about talking with his jaw stuck out a little in the slightest. About having freckles and speckles or whatever the hell else on his face- and even more embarrassed about using makeup to cover them up. But when I get him to myself, all that comes off. I make sure it does. And then I'm the one smiling and poking every little discolored dot on his face, counting them one by one, until they're all accounted for, and I nod. And then I kiss them all, all of them, and I count as I go. And he huffs and grumbles but then he sighs and he smiles and he lets me. 

I know he gets bored at the press meetings and interviews. Horribly bored. Mind-numbingly bored. And if he's had a bit to drink or smoke before one, he'll act like he's never had his head on right at all. Makes a little, silent show for those who care to take their eyes off Page and Plant for two seconds. Throwing candy into his mouth, making faces, I've even caught him folding paper cranes or flipping discreet birds when he has the chance. But nobody sees them- because nobody wants to. 

He's the smartest person in the damn band and nobody pays him mind. 

I've walked with our little group along the streets, and of course the terrible two get flooded by immidiately. But Jonesy keeps on walking, and he'll bring me along, too. Smiling with his head high, sometimes looking back to wave goodbye or wink at Grant trying to disperse the groupie barricade. He flaunts his strengths- in his own way. 

But he's careful. Sly. Sneaky. Calculative. And in all the right ways, too. He hardly ever does anything for his own gain. He uses those qualities to pick my brain so subtly for clues. Why I woke up late and didn't come out of the room. What dream I had the night before. What I'd prefer for dinner. 

Just. Little things. And I used to not be able to figure out when he was doing it at all. But I learned. I learned a lot about him. 

He looks small and fragile, but he's absolutely not. He's sturdy. He's a damn quick learner, and he'll explore a whole subject and use what he's been taught as he goes. And he'll always be there to keep me standing, even if I have to lean on him. Which is... a lot. 

But he leans on me, too. Just in his own way. A subtle way. Because as good as he is for me, he doesn't like taking care of himself. 

So that's what I'm around for. 

I know he likes to be held. He likes the romantic things. He'll hook his pinkie finger around mine when we walk. And then I'll hook mine tighter around his, for a little while, before grabbing him by the side and drawing him close to walk beside. And he always smiles when that happens. 

When it's cold out, he'll wrap his arms around himself, cheeks all red from the chill. And that's when I'll roll my eyes and open up my actual warm fleece coat- and he comes into that fabric and up against me like I ordered him there. Small, thin arms wrapped around me, grabbing at my back. Cold- fuck- ice-chilled hands on my skin. And I'll suck in a breath and grumble about how he can never generate body heat, but wrap my coat around us both. And then he's smiling so smugly that it's really unfair, and so I'll kiss it off. And make him grin even wider. 

Emotionally, it helps. Even if he doesn't want to talk about something face-to-face like I do. I like getting things out in the open. He doesn't unless its imperative. So little gestures like those are what he needs a lot of. 

He needs time. He needs attention. He needs little things- warmth, and for me to be slow. To take my time and really feel. But above all, he needs me. 

I should know- he told me himself.


End file.
